Raising the Bar
After a good night's sleep it seems like we never left the place. I awaken to the sound of the jungle, emerging from my sleep as though I have floated to the surface of some remote lake. It is loud for someone who has spent the last several days in hotels or aboard ships. It is a different sound than in the Amazon, more monkey I think. Gunfire gets me out of my hammock and over to the window.
Lou is outside the perimeter gates firing a pistol. He doesn't seem to be shooting at anything in particular. I half hope he is killing a few of these monkeys.
"HEY... some people are trying to sleep."
He stops for a moment, calling over his shoulder back toward the compound, "Some people shouldn't sleep past eight in the morning."
Eight in the morning. I usually never sleep past six. I walk through the living quarters. Jerry is gone. No dirty breakfast dishes... but we didn't have anything fresh for breakfast anyway. There is a pot of cooling coffee. I pour myself a cup and see a small whisp of steam come up off the top.
Out in the compound I see that the Jeep is gone. Lou peels off a couple of shots and jolts the top inch of coffee out of the cup and out onto my feet.
"Son of a bitch."
"Come on, Nancy, take a couple of shots."
"I'd love to... put a beer can on your head and stand over there."
"Funny."
I finish my coffee, luke warm but strong. Abigail calls to me from her spot in the compound. I have an inspection and servicing to do for Jerry. Naomi is half in the hanger and looks neglected. During a lull in gunfire I convince Lou to open her up and start an inspection. He tells me he doesn't know what he is looking at. I tell him it is an airplane and he flips me off.
It takes about four hours to give Abby a full service and inspection. During that time I patch six bullet holes and a couple of spear hits that pierced the hull in the Amazon. Lou helps me buck a few rivets. While I am topping off her oil tanks I hear Naomi fire up. There is a small cloud of smoke when she rolls over, but it dissipates. After he idles that engine for a while he fires the second engine and lets it run up.
Jerry gets back while we are still doing fuselage repairs. He has brought back fresh eggs, a gallon of milk, and a slab of bacon. By the time Lou has both engines rolling on Naomi, and both he and I are in the cockpit checking things for our flight this afternoon, Jerry waves us down from outside the cockpit windows. He yells over the idling engines that breakfast is ready, even though it is two in the afternoon.
There are four eggs for the each of us, probably eight slices of bacon each, and a huge pour of milk. I can feel my arteries hardening... and I like it. He also has guava and mango sliced up and on the plates. It hits the spot. Everything is fresh as can be. The milk is from one of two cows in the village. Usually we get goat milk, which is hard to swallow some times. It is good to cook with, but try drinking a glass of it when you are expecting regular milk. This is cool, and unpasturized.
Lou wolfs down his breakfast/lunch like it is his last meal. Jerry is heading out first thing in the morning. He has one of Nester's brother-in-laws to help him on the run. Me and Lou are heading for the coast and his bar. He has loose ends... yeah, I know, to easy.
We get going a lot later than we had hoped. We had a little servicing to do on Naomi that really shouldn't have been put off. By the time we are lining up for a landing at the small airport in Huatulco the sun is beyond the horizon and the dusklight is starting to turn the green shades of jungle to grey. Naomi has registration numbers and a radio on which we can talk to any air traffic. There is no tower at this particular airport and we land with line of sight on any other aircraft in the pattern... which there is none. In fact our landing is the only activity we see at this one strip air-park.
"Nobody home." Lou remarks as he eases Naomi down. He is a little long on the runway, so we have to hit the brakes a little harder than expected as to not shoot off into the gravel. To his credit and the limited landings he has made in this little plane... or any for that matter, he touches down flawlessly.
It takes a minute to back track to the small terminal building. Our taxi lights sweep across the barren tarmack until we see the structure. I have seen garden sheds larger than this.
"What about a ride into town?" Lou asks as he shuts down Naomi's engines and applies the parking brake. We both do a reset on switches before we leave the small cockpit.
"I dunno." I look at the small shack. There is an old telephone tacked to the outside wall. "We call?"
"Should have landed at that dirt strip. At least you guys have a truck there."
"I doubt it. You shot that other truck, remember. I'm sure they relieved us of that old truck so they could get back to town and drink all of you liquor."
"Assholes."
We both walk up the garden shack and look at the dingy yellow phone. There is no dial. I pick it up and I can hear a bit of switching going on.
"Hola?" The crackling voice reports from the handset. I put my hand over the receiver and turn to Lou.
"Cool... someone answered."
"English?" I hope.
"Si, English."
"We are at the airfield... uh, airport. Can you send a taxi?"
"Si."
I hear nothing else.
"Hello?" Nothing.
I hang up the phone.
"What the fuck?" Lou looks at me.
"She said si... last time I heard that meant yes."
"So?"
"We wait."
Lou starts pacing and doesn't stop for the next fifteen minutes. Long enough for him to get pretty pissed off. All of this time he put his anger in his back pocket over this whole getting shot at thing when we picked him up from this place. But now he is as fired up as I have ever seen him. I fear for any man... or group of men that get on the bad end of this evening. What I thought might be a fun trip of drinking and partying sounds like it just might be me having Lou's back in some melee' over this bar.
This place smells... bad. I thought it might just be a passing wind, but it smells like we might be next to the sewage plant. This only adds to Lou's building anger. He has stopped talking and I worry about that.
"Hey, bud... cat got your tongue?"
Nothing.
"Lou, I thought this was supposed to be fun. A little partying, a few Walkers, carting away cases of high grade liqour."
He cuts to me with the narrowed gaze of a man in a fury of thought. He is planning something. "Can you take a bullet and make it to the door?"
"What?"
He turns and paces some more, counting something on his fingers, each of them coming out like a switch blade as he adds to the list growing in his mind.
"Hey, you're scaring me, pal."
"Guns... "
"Don't have any."
"Both of those... C4... no primer."
"Jesus Christ, Lou."
An old Impala pulls up with one of four headlights dimly working. I thought this place had a little more going for it than this. Most of the nice cabs are probably running around the city. I welcome the interruption to Rainman's inventory of destruction. I don't know what I have gotten myself into, but I owe the man plain and simple. Somewhere in my mind I start my own inventory... my own list. How far is it from the plane into town, how much fuel do we have, did I hear that number two engine start hard today.
We climb in the back of the old cab and he asks something in mother tongue to which Lou answers.
"Once around the park, eh?" I say, trying to break this heaviness. The cab driver turns in his seat and looks at me in the darkness.
"Nevermind."
Thankfully we make our way out of this foul air. The cool ocean breeze sweeps by like silk on your skin, taking with it the stench of the open ponds of sewage. Soon we are aimed at the clutch of jeweled light that is the main part of town. Lou is still muttering to himself, one hand clenched in a fist... the steel of which looks at though it could stop a freight train in motion.
I have seen Lou in this mood before, but it was much more short lived. He is back in the jungle, his mind set for survival in a battle that has to be waged. It is a scary thing to witness, but even more horrendous to see to its end. I know he will progress from this stage to the execution of whatever he has in mind. It is then that I will hear him speak again, the resolve in his words will give me confidence and courage. Jesus... what the fuck am I doing here.
Five minutes later we are standing in the darkness watching the single tail light of our cab disappear around a corner. This place is much less inviting after dark. The last time I was on this street was with Jerry when we came in to trade a little of Nester's gold for gas money.
We start walking toward Lou's bar, but down the alley behind it. New smell... rotted food and that sickly smell of garbage dump all together in this alley for our enjoyment. There is something to be said for regular garbage pick up. We step over piles of it as we make our way to the back entrance of the bar.
There is a screen door hanging askew from the hinges. Wooden steps lead up to the back entrance. It is here that we crouch down while Lou pulls a board loose.
"What are we doing?" I whisper.
Nothing. Just him fishing in the hole after pulling that board. He comes up with a pistol in a zip-lock bag and hands it to me. Back in the hole he fishes out a plastic garbage bag with something folded inside it.
We retreat from the steps and now our backs are against the back wall of the bar as Lou removes a canvas bag from the plastic and feels around inside of it for a moment.
He lets out a short sigh... something's wrong.
"What?"
"No primer cord."
He speaks. Well, I know this is about to happen... whatever it is.
Lou pulls the pistol from the bag. It is an old revolver, I mean really old.
"You know what this is?"
"A real fancy cigarette lighter?"
"No, Nancy, it's an 1875 Remington Frontier."
"Looks like a fancy cigarette lighter."
Lou checks the load and then snaps the cylinder back into place. "This pistol has some history. I traded some gold for it when a Federale came into the bar with this strapped to his side. Took some doin' but I managed to separate him from it."
"Wow, old gun."
"No, man... this is an 1875 Remington Frontier. 1875 Remingtons were an old west gun. Single Action, .44 caliber, shorter barrel than the "outlaw". Some say you could get quicker draw because you are a couple inches less on the Frontier model than on the seven and a half inch barrel on the outlaw."
"I think you are one cartridge short of a full load."
Lou uncharacteristically swings the weapon toward me and I jump slightly.
"Don't be a pussy. Feel the balance."
I take the pistol. It just feels heavy. Lou snatches it back. Puts his trigger finger through the guard and then twirls it forward and back. You can tell he has worked with this gun for hours on end.
"Why did you have it stashed under the steps?"
"Let's call it premonition and leave it at that. Things were starting to get a little dicey before you boys showed up. My "wife" and her brothers felt that local ownership of any business should be done by the locals."
"So they were the ones that chased you to the airfield?"
"Yep."
Lou gets to his feet and motions for me to pick up the canvas bag.
"I'm going in first. There are two things I want out of this fucking place and then we toss in the bag."
I peer into the canvas bag and see nothing but darkness. "What's in here?"
"Two blocks of C-4 and a grenade."
"Nice. Knowing you I thought it might be a severed head or something."
"Night's still young."
Lou let's me in on the attack plan. He is going in first... a little recon. I am to pull the pin on the grenade and toss the bag into the bar when he tells me. Not a complicated plan, but I am sure it will be effective.
The door creaks as he opens it, and by the way shakes his head he should have remembered. The crackle of music from a portable radio might have covered Lou's entrance. The lack of action from inside is a good sign. He slips inside and I wait.
There is a gingling of bottles near the door and Lou hands out one case and then another of bottles.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"That's nearly a thousand dollars worth of single malt."
Stepping over dollars to pick up dimes. We have enough money between us to wash a fleet of planes in the stuff. I set the cases at my feet, then think about it and run them down the alley a ways. I get back to the screen door in time to hear Lou yell something.
I wait. Seconds drag like minutes. Sounds of a struggle. I grab the canvas bag and step inside.
There are three men holding Lou. His pistol is in the hands of the barmaid... his "wife" I assume. One of the men just gave him one hell of a gut punch. I reach in the bag and grab the grenade, dropping the bag to the ground.
"LET HIM GO." I hold the grenade up for display.
There is a second where they all look at me. When they turn back toward Lou to continue, I see the problem. I pull the pin and repeat myself.
"I'll blow us all to HELL... LET HIM GO."
This time it has more of an effect. They release Lou, who grabs the revolver from the girl. At the entrance of the bar are several bystanders who were watching the fun. Now that the tide has turned out come the weapons.
"Shit." I step back behind the bar and Lou drops to one knee.
The shots are peeled off by the patrons, four standing, two with guns. Lou does something quite amazing. I don't know how but in one fanning motion he peels off all six shots. He only hits one man... several times. In the confusion and rapid fire, we make our exit. Almost as an after thought remember the grenade in my hand and manage to drop it near the canvas bag.
Now I don't know how many seconds you have with a grenade, but whatever it is it doesn't seem like enough time. The grenade would have been enough to drop that bar into kindling. The C-4 turns it into dust and launches that dust into a blazing fireball.
My eyes focus and I am on my back, my clothes are smoldering. The fence I have been blown over is on top of me and on fire. I see Lou's feet.
"Lou... HEY."
My voice sounds like I am screaming into a pillow. I shake the feet and his legs move, sluffing off the rubble that is on top of him. He lifts himself up to his knees and winces. There is a shard of glass in his calf the he yanks out when he discovers it.
"To much... C-4." He stands and wavers a bit. He is still holding the pistol in his hand.
"No... shit. Do ya think?" I pull myself to my feet. Everything feels numb.
We both stand for a moment. The whole block is on fire. The building where I set the scotch is gone with everything else. Why we aren't dead is beyond me. The moments before the blast we might have made it over the fence, or we were on top of it when the blast went off. However the hell it happened, we are still alive.
Lou is outside the perimeter gates firing a pistol. He doesn't seem to be shooting at anything in particular. I half hope he is killing a few of these monkeys.
"HEY... some people are trying to sleep."
He stops for a moment, calling over his shoulder back toward the compound, "Some people shouldn't sleep past eight in the morning."
Eight in the morning. I usually never sleep past six. I walk through the living quarters. Jerry is gone. No dirty breakfast dishes... but we didn't have anything fresh for breakfast anyway. There is a pot of cooling coffee. I pour myself a cup and see a small whisp of steam come up off the top.
Out in the compound I see that the Jeep is gone. Lou peels off a couple of shots and jolts the top inch of coffee out of the cup and out onto my feet.
"Son of a bitch."
"Come on, Nancy, take a couple of shots."
"I'd love to... put a beer can on your head and stand over there."
"Funny."
I finish my coffee, luke warm but strong. Abigail calls to me from her spot in the compound. I have an inspection and servicing to do for Jerry. Naomi is half in the hanger and looks neglected. During a lull in gunfire I convince Lou to open her up and start an inspection. He tells me he doesn't know what he is looking at. I tell him it is an airplane and he flips me off.
It takes about four hours to give Abby a full service and inspection. During that time I patch six bullet holes and a couple of spear hits that pierced the hull in the Amazon. Lou helps me buck a few rivets. While I am topping off her oil tanks I hear Naomi fire up. There is a small cloud of smoke when she rolls over, but it dissipates. After he idles that engine for a while he fires the second engine and lets it run up.
Jerry gets back while we are still doing fuselage repairs. He has brought back fresh eggs, a gallon of milk, and a slab of bacon. By the time Lou has both engines rolling on Naomi, and both he and I are in the cockpit checking things for our flight this afternoon, Jerry waves us down from outside the cockpit windows. He yells over the idling engines that breakfast is ready, even though it is two in the afternoon.
There are four eggs for the each of us, probably eight slices of bacon each, and a huge pour of milk. I can feel my arteries hardening... and I like it. He also has guava and mango sliced up and on the plates. It hits the spot. Everything is fresh as can be. The milk is from one of two cows in the village. Usually we get goat milk, which is hard to swallow some times. It is good to cook with, but try drinking a glass of it when you are expecting regular milk. This is cool, and unpasturized.
Lou wolfs down his breakfast/lunch like it is his last meal. Jerry is heading out first thing in the morning. He has one of Nester's brother-in-laws to help him on the run. Me and Lou are heading for the coast and his bar. He has loose ends... yeah, I know, to easy.
We get going a lot later than we had hoped. We had a little servicing to do on Naomi that really shouldn't have been put off. By the time we are lining up for a landing at the small airport in Huatulco the sun is beyond the horizon and the dusklight is starting to turn the green shades of jungle to grey. Naomi has registration numbers and a radio on which we can talk to any air traffic. There is no tower at this particular airport and we land with line of sight on any other aircraft in the pattern... which there is none. In fact our landing is the only activity we see at this one strip air-park.
"Nobody home." Lou remarks as he eases Naomi down. He is a little long on the runway, so we have to hit the brakes a little harder than expected as to not shoot off into the gravel. To his credit and the limited landings he has made in this little plane... or any for that matter, he touches down flawlessly.
It takes a minute to back track to the small terminal building. Our taxi lights sweep across the barren tarmack until we see the structure. I have seen garden sheds larger than this.
"What about a ride into town?" Lou asks as he shuts down Naomi's engines and applies the parking brake. We both do a reset on switches before we leave the small cockpit.
"I dunno." I look at the small shack. There is an old telephone tacked to the outside wall. "We call?"
"Should have landed at that dirt strip. At least you guys have a truck there."
"I doubt it. You shot that other truck, remember. I'm sure they relieved us of that old truck so they could get back to town and drink all of you liquor."
"Assholes."
We both walk up the garden shack and look at the dingy yellow phone. There is no dial. I pick it up and I can hear a bit of switching going on.
"Hola?" The crackling voice reports from the handset. I put my hand over the receiver and turn to Lou.
"Cool... someone answered."
"English?" I hope.
"Si, English."
"We are at the airfield... uh, airport. Can you send a taxi?"
"Si."
I hear nothing else.
"Hello?" Nothing.
I hang up the phone.
"What the fuck?" Lou looks at me.
"She said si... last time I heard that meant yes."
"So?"
"We wait."
Lou starts pacing and doesn't stop for the next fifteen minutes. Long enough for him to get pretty pissed off. All of this time he put his anger in his back pocket over this whole getting shot at thing when we picked him up from this place. But now he is as fired up as I have ever seen him. I fear for any man... or group of men that get on the bad end of this evening. What I thought might be a fun trip of drinking and partying sounds like it just might be me having Lou's back in some melee' over this bar.
This place smells... bad. I thought it might just be a passing wind, but it smells like we might be next to the sewage plant. This only adds to Lou's building anger. He has stopped talking and I worry about that.
"Hey, bud... cat got your tongue?"
Nothing.
"Lou, I thought this was supposed to be fun. A little partying, a few Walkers, carting away cases of high grade liqour."
He cuts to me with the narrowed gaze of a man in a fury of thought. He is planning something. "Can you take a bullet and make it to the door?"
"What?"
He turns and paces some more, counting something on his fingers, each of them coming out like a switch blade as he adds to the list growing in his mind.
"Hey, you're scaring me, pal."
"Guns... "
"Don't have any."
"Both of those... C4... no primer."
"Jesus Christ, Lou."
An old Impala pulls up with one of four headlights dimly working. I thought this place had a little more going for it than this. Most of the nice cabs are probably running around the city. I welcome the interruption to Rainman's inventory of destruction. I don't know what I have gotten myself into, but I owe the man plain and simple. Somewhere in my mind I start my own inventory... my own list. How far is it from the plane into town, how much fuel do we have, did I hear that number two engine start hard today.
We climb in the back of the old cab and he asks something in mother tongue to which Lou answers.
"Once around the park, eh?" I say, trying to break this heaviness. The cab driver turns in his seat and looks at me in the darkness.
"Nevermind."
Thankfully we make our way out of this foul air. The cool ocean breeze sweeps by like silk on your skin, taking with it the stench of the open ponds of sewage. Soon we are aimed at the clutch of jeweled light that is the main part of town. Lou is still muttering to himself, one hand clenched in a fist... the steel of which looks at though it could stop a freight train in motion.
I have seen Lou in this mood before, but it was much more short lived. He is back in the jungle, his mind set for survival in a battle that has to be waged. It is a scary thing to witness, but even more horrendous to see to its end. I know he will progress from this stage to the execution of whatever he has in mind. It is then that I will hear him speak again, the resolve in his words will give me confidence and courage. Jesus... what the fuck am I doing here.
Five minutes later we are standing in the darkness watching the single tail light of our cab disappear around a corner. This place is much less inviting after dark. The last time I was on this street was with Jerry when we came in to trade a little of Nester's gold for gas money.
We start walking toward Lou's bar, but down the alley behind it. New smell... rotted food and that sickly smell of garbage dump all together in this alley for our enjoyment. There is something to be said for regular garbage pick up. We step over piles of it as we make our way to the back entrance of the bar.
There is a screen door hanging askew from the hinges. Wooden steps lead up to the back entrance. It is here that we crouch down while Lou pulls a board loose.
"What are we doing?" I whisper.
Nothing. Just him fishing in the hole after pulling that board. He comes up with a pistol in a zip-lock bag and hands it to me. Back in the hole he fishes out a plastic garbage bag with something folded inside it.
We retreat from the steps and now our backs are against the back wall of the bar as Lou removes a canvas bag from the plastic and feels around inside of it for a moment.
He lets out a short sigh... something's wrong.
"What?"
"No primer cord."
He speaks. Well, I know this is about to happen... whatever it is.
Lou pulls the pistol from the bag. It is an old revolver, I mean really old.
"You know what this is?"
"A real fancy cigarette lighter?"
"No, Nancy, it's an 1875 Remington Frontier."
"Looks like a fancy cigarette lighter."
Lou checks the load and then snaps the cylinder back into place. "This pistol has some history. I traded some gold for it when a Federale came into the bar with this strapped to his side. Took some doin' but I managed to separate him from it."
"Wow, old gun."
"No, man... this is an 1875 Remington Frontier. 1875 Remingtons were an old west gun. Single Action, .44 caliber, shorter barrel than the "outlaw". Some say you could get quicker draw because you are a couple inches less on the Frontier model than on the seven and a half inch barrel on the outlaw."
"I think you are one cartridge short of a full load."
Lou uncharacteristically swings the weapon toward me and I jump slightly.
"Don't be a pussy. Feel the balance."
I take the pistol. It just feels heavy. Lou snatches it back. Puts his trigger finger through the guard and then twirls it forward and back. You can tell he has worked with this gun for hours on end.
"Why did you have it stashed under the steps?"
"Let's call it premonition and leave it at that. Things were starting to get a little dicey before you boys showed up. My "wife" and her brothers felt that local ownership of any business should be done by the locals."
"So they were the ones that chased you to the airfield?"
"Yep."
Lou gets to his feet and motions for me to pick up the canvas bag.
"I'm going in first. There are two things I want out of this fucking place and then we toss in the bag."
I peer into the canvas bag and see nothing but darkness. "What's in here?"
"Two blocks of C-4 and a grenade."
"Nice. Knowing you I thought it might be a severed head or something."
"Night's still young."
Lou let's me in on the attack plan. He is going in first... a little recon. I am to pull the pin on the grenade and toss the bag into the bar when he tells me. Not a complicated plan, but I am sure it will be effective.
The door creaks as he opens it, and by the way shakes his head he should have remembered. The crackle of music from a portable radio might have covered Lou's entrance. The lack of action from inside is a good sign. He slips inside and I wait.
There is a gingling of bottles near the door and Lou hands out one case and then another of bottles.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"That's nearly a thousand dollars worth of single malt."
Stepping over dollars to pick up dimes. We have enough money between us to wash a fleet of planes in the stuff. I set the cases at my feet, then think about it and run them down the alley a ways. I get back to the screen door in time to hear Lou yell something.
I wait. Seconds drag like minutes. Sounds of a struggle. I grab the canvas bag and step inside.
There are three men holding Lou. His pistol is in the hands of the barmaid... his "wife" I assume. One of the men just gave him one hell of a gut punch. I reach in the bag and grab the grenade, dropping the bag to the ground.
"LET HIM GO." I hold the grenade up for display.
There is a second where they all look at me. When they turn back toward Lou to continue, I see the problem. I pull the pin and repeat myself.
"I'll blow us all to HELL... LET HIM GO."
This time it has more of an effect. They release Lou, who grabs the revolver from the girl. At the entrance of the bar are several bystanders who were watching the fun. Now that the tide has turned out come the weapons.
"Shit." I step back behind the bar and Lou drops to one knee.
The shots are peeled off by the patrons, four standing, two with guns. Lou does something quite amazing. I don't know how but in one fanning motion he peels off all six shots. He only hits one man... several times. In the confusion and rapid fire, we make our exit. Almost as an after thought remember the grenade in my hand and manage to drop it near the canvas bag.
Now I don't know how many seconds you have with a grenade, but whatever it is it doesn't seem like enough time. The grenade would have been enough to drop that bar into kindling. The C-4 turns it into dust and launches that dust into a blazing fireball.
My eyes focus and I am on my back, my clothes are smoldering. The fence I have been blown over is on top of me and on fire. I see Lou's feet.
"Lou... HEY."
My voice sounds like I am screaming into a pillow. I shake the feet and his legs move, sluffing off the rubble that is on top of him. He lifts himself up to his knees and winces. There is a shard of glass in his calf the he yanks out when he discovers it.
"To much... C-4." He stands and wavers a bit. He is still holding the pistol in his hand.
"No... shit. Do ya think?" I pull myself to my feet. Everything feels numb.
We both stand for a moment. The whole block is on fire. The building where I set the scotch is gone with everything else. Why we aren't dead is beyond me. The moments before the blast we might have made it over the fence, or we were on top of it when the blast went off. However the hell it happened, we are still alive.
posted by Jake Allen at 4:55 AM
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